Do You Know The Muffin Man? ('Cause if he's anything like the Ice Cream Man, he's a jerk).

We bought our first house and moved to our current neighborhood in August of 2007, when I was about 6 months pregnant (so many things wrong with that sentence). One hot summer evening as I sat on our newly purchased stoop, swollen and miserable, sweaty and generally overwhelmed, I heard the far-off tinny strains of "Turkey in The Straw". In our last neighborhood, the only thing that would be left of the ice cream truck after one round would be the windshield wipers; everything else would have been stripped and sold. So I held my breath and waited, and sure enough, like a frosty beacon of hope, a white van emblazoned with pictures of snowcones and fudgesicles turned the corner. As a group of shrieking, giggling children formed a line, waving their dollar bills in the air, my eyes filled with tears at the purity, and nostalgia, of the scene. One day, this unborn child and I would hear the same schmaltzy music, and run for the truck together. After all, The Child and Ice Cream were destined for long and beautiful friendship. By the time she was six months along, her blood was pretty much composed of 33% Frosty, 33% Mint Oreo Blizzard, 33% Ben and Jerry's Chubby Hubby, and 1%....boring biological stuff.

Which brings us to today. We've had a tough time nailing down the ice cream truck's schedule. We either hear the truck and can't locate it, or we see it pass and then can't make it stop. I hated seeing her little crestfallen face when she realized each time that she wasn't getting a neon yellow Spongebob popsicle with bubblegum eyes yet again(I know, I know, gross and nutritionally appalling...but, it's the experience that counts, right? RIGHT?? Well...no one asked you :-P.). Failure is no longer an option. Tonight, we are finding that truck, and you and me, kid....we're getting you that ice cream!! *cue "Eye of The Tiger", neon warmup suits, Mr. Miyagi, etc etc.*

And then....it happened. It was like kismet. Like providence. Like...God just wanted us to eat ice cream.


It was 7 PM, and we were making delicious play-doh burgers with bright purple french fries. At the first few notes of "Turkey in the Straw", The Child and I froze, all senses on alert. As the notes became louder, we inched, slowly and deliberately towards the door, like a pride of lions stalking a delicious brightly colored frozen zebra. (Okay, at a grand total of two, we would be a pretty pathetic pride, but roll with it.) When I carefully opened the door and saw the ice cream truck parked off to the side, it was on. "GO MACKENZIE GO!!!!" The Child held the screen door open, as I shoved The Dog back with one hand and grabbed my purse with the other. There was a brief struggle as the door handle tried to claim my purse, but I was victorious. Unfortunately, that quick battle cost us valuable time. Once I got detangled and to the bottom of the steps, I was met with teary eyes and a quivery bottom lip. "He did not wait, Mommy. No ice cweam tonight." Sure enough, the truck had moved on. As The Child slowly came back up the steps, Mommy Lion came alive. Oh. Hells. No. "Come on, MacKenzie. We're getting ice cream." She looked up. "But I don't even hear da music." We. Are. Getting. Ice. Cream.

I grabbed her hand, and started stomping down the sidewalk, looking left and right, searching for any sign of the truck. We covered blocks in seconds. Then....victory. In front of us, a couple of streets away, sat the elusive ice cream truck. Tonight was going to be the night. It was our time!!! But all of the sudden - the truck suddenly started, and the music began playing again. Is it leaving?? There is no way that I am chasing this damn truck all over the neighborhood. It is now or never. And I was off.

What I neglected to remember in my determination and focus was that I really initially intended to just run to the truck, grab an ice cream, and run back to the house. So I was wearing terry cloth booty shorts a couple of sizes too big, a spaghetti sauce splattered white t-shirt, and no shoes. Unfortunately, in my awesome warp speed, I began to lose my shorts...so I yanked them back up with the hand not holding my precious child. Again, unfortunately, I was a little enthusiastic with my yanking up, so I just as quickly began tugging them back down again before the neighborhood watch started tucking dollar bills in my waistband. So basically, anyone out for a quiet post-dinner stroll either stared in fascination or ducked for cover at the barefoot, sloppy frizzball who couldn't figure out if her shorts were on or off, hauling a maniacally giggling toddler tucked under one arm, all the while hollering "YOU BETTER NOT GO ANYWHERE, ICE CREAM PERSON, SO HELP ME GOD!!!!!"

Yup. Putting the class into classy. That's us.

Needless to say, the ice cream man's attention was grabbed, and the truck turned back off. As we skidded to a stop in front of the pass out window, I was torn between a sense of superhero triumph and absolute and abject mortification. Meanwhile, The Child struggled out from beneath my arm and shot the man a beautific smile. "Hi dere. I'm MacKenzie. I like yo' car's music. I fink that's my jam." The ice cream man was struck speechless, and seemed torn on which of us to be more concerned about. Yeah, we get that a lot. All that matters is that we made it. The fact that he didn't have Spongebob didn't even phase The Child...apparently Tweety Bird made a more than acceptable substitute.

And so we sat there on the curb, licking our hard won, well-deserved, and rapidly melting treats. I glanced over, and watched a sunbeam bounce off of my daughter's curly head, as she turned and grinned sloppily at me. "I sure love ice cream, Mommy." So do I, baby girl. And this moment was everything that I had hoped it would be on that hot evening a few years ago. <3